


title does not dictate behavior

by ramathorne



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing, gratuitous references to stoner bro movies, semi-graphic descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramathorne/pseuds/ramathorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Villains keep sticking Peter with pointy things. Peter keeps passing out due to really unfortunate events involving said pointy things. Wade makes bad View Askew references the entire time because he's on a really stupid Kevin Smith kick, apparently.</p><p>(this fic is mostly an exercise in trying to figure out how the fuck to write again.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. purgation

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what i'm doing in this fucking fandom. i wandered in via x-men when i went to watch deadpool @ the request of my friend who wanted an analysis on colossus' character, and now i'm in fucking hell trying to figure how to survive because i have no idea how to write these two.
> 
> please excuse my muffled cursing as i bumble the fuck about.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Semi-AU where the X-Men end up confronting their anthropomorphized Danger Room in the streets of New York, and Spider-Man and Deadpool try to help.
> 
> Key word is 'try'.

Peter knows it's Wade who’s dragging him through the ruined street, who props him up in a secluded alleyway and _flumphs_ down next to him with a wet, wounded squish; because when he tries to gurgle out something resembling words he doesn’t get the typical _thank god, you're alive_. He doesn’t even get the _holy crap, you're bleeding internally_ , or even the pragmatic, heroic-esque, _it's all right, you're safe now_.

Instead he gets, "Chewie, is that you?" And it is, hands down, _the_ dumbest thing he's ever heard, but it startles a choked laugh out of him _anyway_.

Wade mumbles, under his breath, "Ohhh _hhh_ \--what a wookie!" and proceeds to feebly jam out in a surprisingly decent acapella version of the song's grunge riff. Peter wheezes, and it’s still pretty funny until it dissolves into a coughing fit, and that’s how it goes, for a while-- Wade’s discordant chord progressions drowning out the sound of chaos and sirens that were setting his pain-addled brain on edge.

Peter breathes to the beat of the other man’s hands against the concrete until he feels like his insides aren’t being scraped raw with a rake.

"--Okay?" he croaks out. _Is everyone okay_ , is what he meant to say, really, because the last time he'd been conscious, the X-Men had been chasing a naked lady robot stomping down through Manhattan from Westchester-- with lasers and pointy blades sticking out of her every robo-orifice, so, y’know, he’d felt kind of obligated to help out. He was also about 99% obligated to be sure that the X-Men were full of  _bull_ when they said Danger (also her name is _Danger_ , come on) wouldn’t kill anyone. Said pointies and pew-pews weren’t just for show, if the holes she stuck in him and Deadpool were any indication.

Granted, he remembers her sticking a _lot_ more holes in Deadpool when he taunted her with his immortality, but he’s not sure if that can really work against her case.

Peter tries to get up.

Wade pushes him down again.

"Don’t worry about that, Chewie,” he says. “You rest your pretty lil’ head. Let Cyke-walker and his X-Droids take the spotlight. We’ll show up in the next episode for sure ‘cause I don’t think she stuck you anywhere vital. _Man_ she got you good though, even if using telepathic powers to distort your spidey senses is a big cheating no-no. _No_ , dude,” he suddenly mutters, under his breath, “Indomitable Will is not the same as Telepathic Immunity, I told you already. Spidey just can’t be _mind_ _controlled_ \-- Don’t even joke about his head exploding! That’s specifically what we were preventing, idiot!”

As the other man gets into yet another argument with himself, Peter realizes-- His gloves are wet with blood. Actually, he’s pretty sure _all_ of Deadpool’s uniform is wet with blood, judging on how quickly the puddle under them is growing.

“Are _you_ okay?” Peter asks, and then, before he can even think about it, he looks down. “Oh my god, she cut off your _legs,_ I’m sorry.”

Wade freezes.

“You _do_ care!” he gushes, and-- yep, okay, they’re hugging now, Peter is officially covered in wet, warm blood that isn’t _his_ and is, as a bonus to being completely disgusting, gonna be a pain to clean out of his uniform later. He takes it back.

“ _I take it back_ ,” he wheezes out loud.

“No take-backs! Majority rules negatory on the take-backs!!”

“Majority doesn’t _count_ when the other two are imaginary, Deadpool,” Peter says, but he’s still way too sore to do anything about it, and, well-- he’s pretty sure the merc only showed up and got himself _shish kebab’d_ because Peter had been in a bit of trouble. He can let it slide, for a while.

Deadpool’s head is resting on his chest now, and from the way the fabric is stretching every which way, Peter is about 75% positive the man is trying to waggle his eyebrows and flutter his eyelashes at the same time. It looks ridiculous.

“Fine.” he relents, trying to make his voice stern because he’s trying _really fricking_ hard to fight the smile threatening to curl at the corners of his mouth. “But if you pinch any part of me while we wait for the others to come back I’m going to kick you down that sewer hole over there."

“Spidey Bob,” Wade gasps, scandalized. Peter doesn’t miss the way his arms tighten around him. “You’re a rude motherfucker.”

“--But I’m cute as hell,” Peter finishes, dryly.

Wade makes an inordinately high-pitched sound of glee right in his ear at that, but Peter ignores it out of the kindness of his heart. Wade _also_ only lasts thirty seconds before his blood-stiff gloves sneak down to Peter’s ass and the superhero makes good on his promise and launches him into the air.

Which-- well, thirty seconds is a new record, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're one of the few readers who noticed that deadpool was tapping a beat out with his allegedly cut-off foot before i changed it i am v sorry and apologize profuckinfusely


	2. did he just say, 'making fuck'?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Green Goblin and Spidey get into tussle," Wade explains, dipping the chip sandwich (chipwich? Sandchips? Chipwich.) into his _pico de gallo_. "Tussle breaks open pumpkin tranq bomb. Wade is un _fazed_ by pumpkin tranq bomb,” he continues, and throws the chipwich into his mouth, crunching noisily. He grins around the coriander leaves sticking in the corners of his teeth. “ _Spidey’s_ Wade."

_This_ time when he's roused from unconsciousness, Peter’s in a Mexican restaurant; seated in a cramped, two-person booth way in the back. Which is, all things considered, much better than an alleyway, but right now his head is _killing_ him, the inside of his mouth tastes a lot like he's been chewing on slightly used cotton balls, and he _would_ be a bit more panicked about not being able to move most of his limbs properly, but there’s a tingly, reassuring warmth pressed against his side and cool glass under his cheek, so he’s. Well, he's _worried_ , yeah, but a little less so.

His spidey senses aren't going off at the moment, either, so he figures there's no immediate danger. Slightly cold and shady taco burrito joint is pretty damn serene compared to fighting the Green Goblin and his new array of tranquilizer-themed weapons. _Jarringly_ serene, even.

Then Wade starts singing the Jaws theme, and Peter decides he is horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

"Duhhh dun... duhhh dun... duhh dun du dun dudun _dudundudundudun_ \--Salsa Wade," Deadpool mutters, somewhere next to him. "Gonna need some better drugs! Oh, hey Spidey."

At the sound of his name Peter's head lolls onto his other shoulder. He squints at the mercenary through his mask-- then immediately regrets it because _ow_ , head pounding, not great, not fun, etcetera, and tries to ask, "Where and _how_ did you find an open taqueria at two in the morning?" but due to the tranqs it sounds a lot less like that and a lot more like, well, “ _Hglrbrrhl_.”

Wade treats this as if it were a normal greeting. _Hi Deadpool!_ he seems to think Peter’s said. _Fancy meeting you here, what are you working on,_ probably comes next. God damn it, Wade.

“Spidey, look,” the merc urges. Peter hates how right he is sometimes. “Look, check this out, we’ve been trying to think of a _ssssuccinct--_ ” he emphasizes the ‘S’, “--way to summarize earlier, and I think we’re finally onto something here." The mercenary wiggles his fingers experimentally, takes a slice of avocado from his half-eaten chimichanga, and slaps it onto a red-colored tortilla chip.

Then, after much deliberation, Wade smashes the avocado with another blue-colored chip on top, and Peter contemplates how far he’s fallen as a superhero. Seriously. _This_ was the company he kept, nowadays? _This_ was what he had as backup-- unwanted or not. No wonder the Avengers didn’t want him.

"Green Goblin and Spidey get into tussle," Wade explains, dipping the chip sandwich (chipwich? Sandchips? Chipwich.) into his _pico de gallo_. "Tussle breaks open pumpkin tranq bomb. Wade is un _fazed_ by pumpkin tranq bomb,” he continues, and throws the chipwich into his mouth, crunching noisily. He grins around the coriander leaves sticking in the corners of his teeth. “ _Spidey’s_ Wade."

Peter doesn't dignify that with an answer. He shuts his eyes instead. _One_. He thinks, _Strike one_ , but Wade’s still talking.

"I even took pics to prove I didn't kill anyone after I picked you up, see! I posted them on my Snapchat, which you woulda _known_ if you’d just accept my friend request-- oh wait, you were passed out either way. My bad, totally forgot. That’s okay though, here--" The merc pulls Peter in by the shoulder, swiping through his phone gallery. "See, there's you and ol' Green Gob on the hoverboard, nice goofy stance, by the way, oh my god, wait. _Wait_. I just realized something. Spidey...” Wade whispers, right into his ear like it’s some sort of secret. “Do you… _skateboard_?”

And of course, Peter doesn’t really see how this is ever going to be relevant to anything, but Wade takes his silence as an affirmative.

“Holy _shit_ cans,” he says, almost in awe, “That explains so much about your perfect ass.” _Uh, okay. Strike two._ “That just. Explains _so_ fucking much. _Shit,_ I can see it now, all that _flexing_ as you push off for momentum, the wind accentuating your perfect thighs through those low-riding boarding shorts-- no, wait.” He tilts his head, as if he’s listening to something. “...Yeah. Sorry, White’s got a point, dude. Sometimes skintight just doesn’t cut it. Sometimes you gotta just imagine for yourself what that smooth, taut, supple flesh looks like--”

_Okay. No. Strike three. Strike three for sure._

"Wrgh," Peter grunts. Shakes his jaw out. Tries again. "Wade--"

"--Sorry,” Wade says, and pats Peter’s cheek absently, leaving a faint trail of dried refried beans against the fabric. _Strike four--_ “You know how I feel about your booty.” _Strike five--_ “I can’t just keep quiet, yaddamean? That shit is _turnt_ the fuck _up_. S’like two stress balls snuggling up to each other beggin’ me to _squeeze,_  man. And your _legs_? Don't get me started on them legs.”

 _Strike six!_ Peter shouts inside, face burning as he silently struggles to channel enough energy into his arms to web Wade to the ceiling. _Strike infinity!!_

“Anyway,” Wade continues, “Quit distracting me with your bodacious bottom, dude, I know your wily ways.” _Strike infinity plus two!!_ “Where were we? Oh yeah. Goofy style--” _swip_ , “--you socking Green Gobby in the face--” _swip_ , “--him socking _you_ in the face as you sock him again, no slicing involved, _soooo_ boring. Dat ass tho.” _swip._ ”--Oh look! Then I come in, swords out, deflecting those tranq bullets right back into Greenie like the _most likeliest of scenarios_. That stuff was a doozy though, eh? If there’d been a few hundred more doses of that shit I’d probably be out cold like Cap in the fifties. Whoo! Knock me the fuck _out_ , sweet cheeks. Preferably between _your_ sweet cheeks, actually--”

" _Wade!_ " Peter whispers, as furiously as his sluggish muscles let him.

He tries to get up.

Wade pushes him back down.

"Spidey!" Deadpool admonishes, looping his arm around Peter’s shoulders and squeezing tightly. “You shouldn’t be walking around, bro, you’re _basically_ incapacitated.” _Swip_. “And this is me taking a selfie with you and Green Gobbleknobs’ KO’d body on the way to your favorite police drop-off, but then I realized, holy _fucking hell_ , Goblin Greensleeves is _passed_ _out_. So this is him, planking sixty-nine style on a hobo.”

Deadpool swipes to the next photo, and there’s this high pitched, distressed noise that crawls its way out of Peter’s throat.

Because despite everything, Norman Osborn in his stupid purple booty shorts glory really _is_ planking on a sleepy homeless guy. And it’s _hilarious_.

It shouldn’t be.

But it really is.

That’s how they sit for a while, with Peter squashed against Wade’s side-- the phone in-between them as the latter gets predictably distracted with showing Peter bad cat macro images and Russian car crash compilations.

Ten minutes later Peter’s got most of the muscle control back in his arms and he’s picking off Wade’s plate-- slowly demolishing the remains of the merc’s shredded chimichanga with what’s left of their tortilla chip bowl and snarking with him about how much M. Night Shyamalan’s career has gone down the toilet.

Twenty minutes and two bowls of soup later, Peter’s head settles under the line of Wade’s jaw.

They both freeze.

…

...Don't judge Peter. He's _tired_ , okay? Between finals, work, the X-Men stomping all over everything _and_ his own city’s villains deciding to make a comeback, he kind of just wants to lie against a relatively flat surface (vertical or horizontal by this point in time, he's not picky) and sleep and/or not worry about _anything_ for a few thousand _years_.

Plus, you know, enough tranquilizers to take out the freakin’ _Blob_ swimming around in his bloodstream isn’t really helping the situation.

Even if they’re mostly gone by now.

Look, shut up.

“...Spidey,” Wade says. Has his voice always been that _rough_? It’s so deep and scratchy it's probably scraping sand with the other fish at the bottom of the sea, for crying out loud. And Peter doesn’t ask what Wade wants, he’s very decidedly _not_ asking that, thank you very much, because asking warrants an answer, and if there’s anything that Peter doesn’t want right now, it’s _answers_.

There’s a stubborn beat of silence.

And then Wade whispers, “...My love for you is like a truck, _berserker_ ,” against Peter's cheek, and because Wade is a thirty-something-year-old child he starts _giggling_.

Even though Peter’s been really good about censoring himself all night, the first words out of his mouth are, “What the _fuck._ ”

Because, seriously, what the _fuck_.

Wade grins-- actually _grins_ against his mask, and starts to say, “ _Would_ you like to making fuck, _berser--_ ” but Peter doesn’t let him finish this time.

He webs him to the ceiling, instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the fuck do you write this ship? is there a tutorial or something? jesus h. christ.


End file.
